We were lucky to catch up with Brandon Kellum recently and have shared our conversation below.
Brandon, thanks so much for taking the time to share your insights and lessons with us today. We’re particularly interested in hearing about how you became such a resilient person. Where do you get your resilience from?
You know, resilience isn’t something you’re handed — it’s something you build, one brick at a time. I come from a family of construction workers who were out in the Arizona sun pouring concrete in 115-degree heat. No shade, no glamour, just grit. Growing up watching them grind through long days with cracked hands and sunburned necks — that gave me perspective. My worst days are often better than their best days..
But honestly, the hardest part of anything is taking the first step — whether it’s starting a band, picking yourself back up after a loss, or just getting out of bed when you’re not sure what the day holds. When adversity hits, the only thing we can control is how we react. I’ve learned that you either let it define you, or you let it refine you. And I’d rather turn that pain into something productive — whether that’s a song, a scream, or a conversation after a show that makes someone feel a little less alone.
So I guess resilience isn’t just about being tough. It’s about choosing to move forward when it’d be easier to stay stuck. It’s not glamorous — but neither is sweating through drywall in the Phoenix sun. Both are just about showing up. Every. Damn. Day.
Thanks for sharing that. So, before we get any further into our conversation, can you tell our readers a bit about yourself and what you’re working on?
What do I do? Well, for the last 15 years, I’ve been yelling at strangers in dive bars and VFW halls across the country — and somehow convincing them to yell back. That’s American Standards in a nutshell. We’re the band that showed up in a van with no AC, played for seven people (three of whom worked there), and still left like we just headlined Coachella. We’ve always been less about “what’s trendy” and more about “what’s necessary,” which usually means: loud, weird, cathartic, and deeply uncomfortable for your uncle that accidentally wandered into the show.
What’s special about it? Honestly, it’s that we got to do it. No label puppeteering us, no manager in a suit asking if we can “make the screams sexier.” Just five dudes duct-taping gear together and making noise that meant something to us—and surprisingly, to a small army of other weirdos who found solace in the chaos. We were never trying to be the biggest band in the room—just the most honest.
As for what’s new… well, after 15 years of beautiful, feedback-soaked noise and off-key singalongs, we’re closing the chapter with our final album, Future Orphans, dropping June 30, 2025. It’s our love letter, hate mail, and inside joke to a scene that raised us and occasionally gave us tinnitus. It’s chaotic, self-aware, and probably the only record that references both algorithms and cowboy drinks in the same breath.
No tour, no fake farewell shows that stretch out for years like a bad Netflix series. Just this one last record, from the heart, then we vanish into the Arizona dust like hardcore cryptids.
If you’ve ever felt like you didn’t quite fit in, Future Orphans is for you. If you’ve ever screamed your lungs out in a room where the mic didn’t work and no one cared—also for you. And if none of this makes sense but you just like lyrics that sound like bad tattoo ideas, then hey, welcome home.
If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?
Looking back, I think the three things that carried me the furthest weren’t necessarily talent or technical skill—though, yeah, screaming in time does help—but more mindset-based: consistency, perspective, and community.
1. Consistency:
People romanticize the big moments—album drops, packed shows, whatever—but what really matters is showing up when no one else does. We played some empty rooms early on that would’ve made a ghost feel lonely. But every song, every set, every awkward merch table conversation chipped away at something bigger. My advice? Don’t wait to be “ready.” You’ll never feel ready. Start now, be consistent, and let your growth be the story.
2. Perspective:
Coming from a family of construction workers in the Phoenix heat, I always kept in mind that chasing this dream—no matter how broke or tired I got—was a privilege. My worst day on the road still beats their best day pouring concrete in 115 degrees. That grounded me. So when things got hard, I’d remind myself: “This is the good part.” Whether you’re playing to five people or fifty, if you get to make something meaningful and put it into the world, you’re doing alright.
3. Community:
We were never the “cool band.” No co-signs, no viral TikToks—just people who believed in what we were doing and told a friend. The hardcore scene taught me that it’s not about building a fanbase, it’s about building relationships. Find people who genuinely care about what you do, and care back. Show up for them the way you want them to show up for you. That’s how movements start. That’s how we lasted 15 years without losing our minds.
For anyone just starting out: you don’t need permission to begin. You don’t need fancy gear, a giant following, or the perfect plan. You just need to take the first step—and then keep stepping. You’ll figure the rest out on the way.
And if all else fails, scream loud enough until someone hears you. Worked for us.
Any advice for folks feeling overwhelmed?
When I feel overwhelmed—which, honestly, happens more than I’d probably admit—I try to remind myself that I can’t control everything. I can’t control how people react, what curveballs get thrown my way, or whether things go the way I imagined. But I can control how I show up, and I can control the effort I put in. That’s usually enough to get me through the moment.
I think a lot of anxiety comes from trying to hold the whole picture in your head at once—like you’re trying to solve the puzzle before you’ve even opened the box. So I shrink it down. What’s one small thing I can do right now that moves me forward? Not the perfect thing. Not the impressive thing. Just the next thing. That mindset’s helped me get through everything from writing lyrics to grief to burnout on tour.
I also try to be okay with the fact that some days I’ll fall short. Some days I’ll phone it in or miss the mark or just feel stuck. And that’s fine. You’re not failing because you’re overwhelmed. You’re human. The important thing is being honest with yourself, doing what you can, and picking it back up tomorrow.
So, yeah. I don’t always get it right. But I’ve learned that doing your best—whatever your best looks like that day—is more than enough.
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